


5000

by padfootagain



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, just some pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfootagain/pseuds/padfootagain
Summary: It’s a lazy wintery morning, and in the bedroom above a quiet bookshop, an angel and a demon might be reaching their 5000th kiss…





	5000

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure fluff :)

It’s a soft morning. Dawn kisses rooftops whitened by frost, the air is barely disturbed by a lazy breeze. The sky is painted in pale yellow and orange, and for now, only traces of the light blue it will be wearing for the rest of the day. The humming of the busy streets of London are distant enough to sound almost like a lullaby. Chimneys free grey clouds of ashes and smoke into the pale morning, as if extending arms towards the heavens. They make the only clouds visible in this wintery morning above London. There’s a bird singing two houses down the street, about the coming of the sun and the bright new day that awaits the world. It’s a merry tune, that creeps through the bedroom as shushed and tender. It feels like the whole world is shushed and tender for this shy dawn, actually. Even time has slowed down, it would seem. It’s lazy this morning too, and perhaps even the Earth is not spinning as fast as it should.  
Despite the cold temperatures outside, it is soft and warm in this bedroom of Soho.  
It’s warm under the covers. Warm and safe, how could anyone want to move away? The bed is large and comfortable. There’s no sound in the bookshop. It’s still and silent and suspended through time and space, and yet no miracle was performed to make this moment last forever. It’s just so calm. The smell of old books and hot cocoa is omnipresent in the house, and there’s no better smell for soothing a soul.  
But the more Crowley embraces the calm morning, the more he realizes that if all these details are so soothing, it’s not because they are intrinsically calming. He realizes that, just like all good things that happen in this life of his, it’s just Aziraphale that makes it all more beautiful than it truly is. A touch more poetic than the earnest reality. A little bit softer than how it is meant to be. That’s how it feels to be with Aziraphale, and that’s how it has always felt.  
Dawn is so soft, its light bathes the angel’s closed eyelids as if it kissed them good-morning. In the view from his pillow, the golden sky embraces Aziraphale’s frame, drawing an aura radiating around his head like a blessed halo. As he listens to the buzzing of the street mingling with the ballad of the sparrow down the street, Crowley can’t help the smile that creeps up his lips, as he knows perfectly what the angel by his side would say at the sound.  
Oh, listen, dear… how beautiful is the melody of the world today!  
He’s happy time is slow this morning on its own will, because it means he can keep on watching Aziraphale sleep for a little longer. And under the covers, his hand brushes against Aziraphale’s and that’s why the bedroom radiates warmth and peace now. How crazy it is that a simple touch can hold so much magic. He can feel the warmth emanating from the angel’s numb form spread through the sheets, warming his own frame. Nothing moves through the bookshop, and the smell is so soothing for Crowley because it’s Aziraphale’s smell he breathes in. Dust, books and cocoa. And also something more, something he can’t quite describe, something warm and sweet, something heavenly… something Aziraphale. Something that smells exactly like home.  
Crowley’s hair is still a mess from the night, partly because of how much he moves in his sleep, partly because of how much his angel had run his fingers through the red locks the previous evening.  
His angel.  
The thought makes him smile the tenderest smile. He can say it this way now. He can admit it all out loud. There is no Heaven nor Hell to tear them apart anymore. He can admit that he is Aziraphale’s, and that the angel is his too.  
The demon’s eyes are golden, with a touch of orange and red reflecting the everlasting fire that burns through his veins. He’s not wearing his glasses, not when he’s with Aziraphale, not anymore. The angel asked him a while back, after the almost-apocalypse, in a shy, hesitant voice, admitting that he found Crowley’s eyes beautiful and wanted to see them, if he would let him. The memory makes the demon’s throat tighten. It is such a tender memory, after all… And now, as he admires Aziraphale’s sleeping form next to him, his pupils a little dilated, he doesn’t force the size of his irises to be just small enough to let a little bit of white appear at the corners of his eyes. He’s been doing that trick for six millennia, ever since humans walked the Earth, in an attempt to fit better in their world. But next to Aziraphale, he doesn’t feel like he needs to control that kind of things anymore. Because, after all, his angel embraced him as he is.  
They’re both only wearing the trousers of their pyjamas, and Crowley studies the way the sun kisses the angel’s naked shoulder, and it brushes his collarbone and neck, and up to his cheek and closed eyelids. How drops of sunlight get caught in his blond, almost white hair made messy by both sleep and how much Crowley had run his fingers through the locks the previous night too. The light seems to be kissing Aziraphale’s lips as well, and the demon is almost jealous of the sun for it.  
It’s a soft and warm morning, filled with love and peace and the purest of happiness, and Crowley is so full of it all, that he’s almost crying.  
Six thousand years. He has waited six millennia to have the right to touch the treasure he has been reaching out for all this time. Six millennia of longing gazes, and almost-touches, and unspoken feelings, and half-admitted truths, and almosts, and perhaps-one-days, and silences over screaming hearts, and bickering, and heartbreaks, and fear of being discovered, and waiting for Aziraphale, and watching over the angel he loved so ardently, and missing him, missing him with every fibre of his being…  
And then the world had not ended. And they had changed faces, and he was out of Hell, and the angel wasn’t siding with Heaven anymore, and what did they have left? Each other. Suddenly, it was all that mattered. No laws forbidding, no secrets to be kept, no threats over their lives, no walls needing to be built to survive… all of a sudden, there were no limitations except the ones they would build themselves.  
And Crowley had thought that he would have to wait for a thousand years more for Aziraphale to be ready to embrace the demon’s love for him, and maybe grow to be fond of him as well. He would have patiently waited millennia more for just the hope to be with the angel. For once, he was happy to be wrong, though. Because actually, Aziraphale loved him too.  
The shift in their relationship had happened naturally, softly, slipping down a slope or… to be more precise, falling and being happy to fall. First it was a brush of fingers as they walked through Saint James’s Park. Then holding hands on their bench. Sharing desserts at the Ritz. Aziraphale reading to him in the bookshop. Watching movies on Crowley’s couch. Sharing blankets as they completed the Times crosswords together. A peck on the cheek. A blush colouring angelic and demonic features alike. And finally… finally… a brush of lips against lips, and a kiss exchanged, full of tenderness and longing that tasted like a forever, like a I promise you, like a I love you, I’ve always loved you. Kisses followed that tasted like stargazing, and dust on old books, and cocoa, and wine, and sugar, and salt, and rain in Saint James’s park, and giggles under a summer storm, and salty wind, and Monet’s paintings, and poems read in candlelight…  
How many have they shared yet? Crowley keeps count. He has to, if he wants to believe it’s all real. He still has this little voice, right at the back of his head, that whispers to him that he is merely dreaming it all. To fight against that demeaning voice, he needs an anchor, he needs to prove himself that all that he lives with Aziraphale is real, even now, after months and months of love. So, he keeps on counting kisses. Over the course of the past year, they have shared 4992 kisses. He only counts the ones when their lips meet, he doesn’t count the others on cheeks, neck and other pieces of skin though. It doesn’t really matter actually, the exact number, nor the technicalities of his account, what matters is that the number keeps going up, and up, and up. He just hopes that it will never cease to increase.  
The sparrow outside changes its tune for something a little softer, although not less happy. Just a little bit more like a lullaby.  
For how long has Crowley been staring at the angel sleeping by his side in the large bed? He has lost track. A minute? An hour? He wishes it could be eternity. He would have loved that kind of never-ending.  
But all good things must come to an end eventually, and next to him, Aziraphale finally stirs.  
His eyelids tremble, flutter, blink and finally reveal the pair of intense blue eyes Crowley adores. How many times has he lost himself into them… he has lost count of that fact. It seems to him they imprison treasures, stars, galaxies… all the things that are luminous and good are held in this gaze he knows so well.  
“Good morning,” Crowley greets his angel into a new day.  
“Morning,” Aziraphale answers in a voice made deep by sleep, a dreamy smile forming on his lips.  
He turns from his back to his side to face Crowley.  
“For how long have you been awake?” he asks, noticing the demon’s hand around his and intertwining their fingers together.  
“No idea.”  
“You’ve been staring?” he asks with a playful glint in his eyes.  
Ha, there it is. The hint of a bastard, like Crowley likes to call it. He loves that trait of his, and he softens even more, although the demon did not think it possible. But then, Aziraphale is good at making him accomplish miracles.  
“Maybe. It was a nice view,” Crowley concedes, making the angel grin and slightly blush.  
“You could have woken me up, instead of being bored.”  
“It’s never boring to look at you, angel.”  
Aziraphale’s heart seems to be expanding with such tenderness, even Crowley can feel it. In response, he brings Crowley’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles, then his palm, and finally the pulse on his wrist, feeling the beating rhythm even if none of them really needs it. It’s strange how they’ve both picked up some human traits they don’t even notice having anymore. He reckons his breathing and heartbeat are unconscious too by now. But he’s happy to find Crowley’s eyes unaltered when he looks up at the demon he loves. He has always loved his eyes so much…  
“If you want, I can prepare breakfast, you stay in bed,” Crowley offered, already pushing the sheet away from him, but when he tried to free his hand, the angel stopped him.  
“Breakfast can wait. Stay with me, just for a little longer.”  
“What now? Are you choosing me over croissants? This sounds like a trick, or a miracle.”  
Aziraphale merely chuckle at the teasing.  
“You know very well, you are competing with crêpes, not croissants.”  
“Oh, am I now? And who wins for now?”  
“That’ll depend if you stay in bed with me or not.”  
“Well, to beat up the crêpes, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”  
They both laugh at that, and Crowley smiles as he easily lets himself be convinced to lie down again. Aziraphale covers him with the sheet and blanket once more, before scooting closer, until they are lying face to face, mere inches apart, still holding hands.  
Their two breaths mingle together in a silent cloud of I love you left unspoken, because these words don’t need to be spoken to be understood. It’s enough for the two of them to be lying there, side by side, fingers intertwined, breaths combined and gazes adoring. It’s enough for both of them to feel happier than they have ever been.  
In these moments, there is no world outside, no God, no Heaven, no Hell, no post-non-apocalypse, no humans, no demons, no angels, no sun, no moon, no day nor night. There is just two forms lying in bed and being everything the other needs. There is just love. How could this not be enough? It’s silent and intimate. It’s vibrant and calm. It’s intense and soothing. It’s safe and warm. It’s soft and loving. It’s the feeling of coming home, where one belongs and always will. It’s a promise that none of them will ever be alone again. It’s absolutely perfect, and there is no place in this reality where any of them would rather be. How could one need a universe when one has a home?  
The moment lasts for a long while, the blue in the sky slowly conquering the gold as the sun rises up higher and higher in its course through the firmament. Eventually, Aziraphale giggles, blushing a little as his eyes rest on Crowley’s messy hair.  
“I reckon I’ve made quite a mess of your hair last night, darling dear.”  
Crowley lets out a laugh.  
“Your hair is a mess too, angel.”  
The blush across the angelic figure intensifies.  
“Is it?”  
Crowley nods with a wicked smile, before reaching up to run his fingers through the pale locks once more.  
“I could make things even worse.”  
“You wily old serpent…”  
They both laugh at the joke, their faces getting closer without them noticing, until their noses brush. And then, there’s a familiar tension electrifying the air between them, as if the string bonding their two souls suddenly pulled them towards each other, closer, closer, always closer until their souls would mingle and become one.  
Eventually, the gap between them is closed, they are holding each other tight, arms around the other, trembling fingers running through messy hair and brushing down a jawline. Lips collide, and part, and dance and it tastes like sunrises and stars and love… if love could be compressed into one sensation, one taste, it would be this kiss.  
And Crowley keeps up the count absentmindedly while he focuses on kissing Aziraphale back, with all the tenderness he can summon from his shaky frame and pounding heart. He has to keep up the count to ground himself, to force himself to believe he isn’t dreaming.  
4993  
A break. Aziraphale kisses his nose, his cheek, his eyelid, making Crowley gasp, before coming back to his lips.  
4994  
A breath drawn, and it’s Crowley’s turn to drop pecks on Aziraphale’s jaw, and climb his way back to the soft, tender lips again.  
4995  
And it’s real. Aziraphale pressed against him, in his arms, eyes closed and eyelashes tickling Crowley’s cheekbones when he moves, and hands travelling across skin… It’s all real. It’s still real.  
4996  
He grins in the kiss. He’s sure they’ll reach 5000 kisses before the end of the morning. Maybe even before the church rings a new hour.  
The sparrow outside sings more softly again, the buzzing cars have shushed, the sun is a little brighter yet still pale and delicate in the light it sheds. Time still moves more slowly than it is supposed to.  
4997  
Crowley buries his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, taking a deep breath, holding it until the scent is carved in his lungs. And the angel holds him in his arms in a delicate yet tight embrace, one that promises an infinity of this kind of mornings. One that promises that he will never let go.  
Crowley is finally his, and he can finally be Crowley’s, there is no chance Aziraphale would ever let go of his demon. Not now, not ever. He has waited too long to finally be free to love him, now, he intends to never stop loving him the way he deserves to be loved. He breathes in deeply Crowley’s scent, leather, cinnamon and fire. And also something more, something he can’t quite describe, something warm and sweet, something hellish… something Crowley. Something that smells exactly like home.  
They stop moving for a while again, both of them closing their eyes, holding on each other tightly. A long time passes, the church does ring, but Crowley is confident they will kiss again at least three times before eating breakfast. 5000 kisses… he decides he’ll take Aziraphale to the Ritz tonight to celebrate, although he will not tell him what he celebrates. He wouldn’t admit this count of his, of course.  
A shame, really, because Aziraphale thinks precisely the same as he smiles in Crowley’s shoulder. 5000… He makes a mental note to order the best champagne and this red wine the demon loves so much.  
5000 kisses, all that both of them are hoping for, is that the number never stops growing.  
Aziraphale lets out a giggle after a long while spent in silence. He’s listened to Crowley’s breath, and the cars outside, and the singing of the sparrow, and he can’t help the wave of joy that washes over him. And when he speaks again, it is to whisper the words Crowley had guessed he would utter.  
“Oh, listen, dear… how beautiful is the melody of the world today!”  
And Crowley grins, because it sounds so much Aziraphale…  
“Don’t be cheesy, angel,” he teases, feigning annoyance, but his lover can feel the smile against his neck.  
“It sounds so peaceful, so… happy.”  
“Are you happy, angel?”  
Suddenly, Crowley’s voice sounds almost fragile. Uncertain. It’s still calm and warm and tender but it slightly shakes as well. Aziraphale drops a peck on the demon’s shoulder, making him tremble in his arms.  
“Of course, dearest. I’m happy. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”  
Crowley can’t refrain a sigh, and relaxes again in Aziraphale’s arms. But it’s the angel who tenses up a little right after.  
“You’re happy with me too, right? Crowley?”  
Crowley… oh, how he loves the way the angel speaks his name. It sounds more beautiful when he is the one uttering it. Maybe it’s because he puts so much love into it.  
Crowley’s smile changes for a note slightly sadder, but not less tender.  
“I never thought I could be this happy, angel. Cause I never thought I’d have you.”  
Aziraphale tightens his hold on him.  
“But you do. You do have me. And I have you.  
"Yeah, angel. I know.”  
They pull away just enough to look at each other again, and then, Crowley reckons that he ought to reach these 5000 kisses now. And it is not Aziraphale who could complain.  
Outside, the sun is a little brighter, the gold has almost waned in the sky, letting room for the blue shades instead. A church nearby rings a quarter. The sparrow is joined by another, and they sing in perfect harmony, as if they were one soul sharing two bodies, two hearts, three kisses…  
4998  
4999  
5000.


End file.
